


I'm Dreaming Of A White Christmas

by PastelWonder



Category: Spy (2015)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, One-sided Susan Cooper/Rick Ford, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:32:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelWonder/pseuds/PastelWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Susan is cornered by Rick at the annual company Christmas party, she can't help but think he's so... polite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Dreaming Of A White Christmas

“Susan, you didn’t,” Nancy sighed, a little louder than usual to compensate for the smooth Christmas jazz crooning over the speakers. She looked at a loss. “What on Earth were you thinking?”

 

“I don’t know,” Susan moaned, tipping her head back and covering her eyes with her hand. Her reindeer antler headband slipped a little in her hair. “He said, _Merry Christmas, Coop_ , and before I knew it, I was spilling my guts.”

 

Nancy rubbed her arm, clucking lightly. “Sweetie. S’not _that_ bad, is it?”

 

“Yes, uh-huh. I mean lit-er-al-ly spilling them, rambling at a million miles per second about how I wanted _him_ to have a Merry Christmas, too, and all I want for Christmas is him, and wouldn’t we simply be having a wonderful Christmas-time if he rocked around my Christmas tree and made a white Christmas-”

 

Nancy’s eyes went as wide as her appetizer plate. “Oh my God.”

 

“- mother of pearl Nancy, what is _wrong_ with me?!” Susan growled at herself, one hand clenched in a fist and the other clamping onto her plate of rum balls for dear life. Her cheeks were flushed, teeth bared and how could she be so stupid?

 

“Susan! I mean it, you have got to stop beating yourself up-”

 

“Everything is going to be so awkward now-”

 

“-I’m not entirely sure he doesn’t provoke you intentionally for the ego-stroke-”

 

“-if he doesn’t report me for sexual harassment, first.” Susan gasped. She gave Nancy a terrified look. “Oh my gosh, you don’t think he’d report me, do you? I mean-” she shrugged, more to herself than to Nancy, “why wouldn’t he? I basically asked him to come on my-”

 

Nancy froze. ”Oh, bugger me with a ski pole.”

 

Susan clapped her hands over her eyes. “I knew it. I’m a walking HR violation in a stupid snowman sweater.” She plucked viciously at one of the large white pompoms on her bright red sweater vest.

 

“No.” Nancy leaned in, whispering in Susan’s ear, “It’s Rudolph the Red-nosed Idiot, come for his yearly chat-up.”

 

“What?” Susan followed Nancy’s nod, across the ballroom. She squinted, and then caught his shadow sweeping over the parquet dance floor just as he prowled past the cloth-draped bar.

 

“No way,” she scoffed, waving her hand at Nancy as something unsettling tickled in her gut.

 

The last thing she needed after her holiday meltdown with Fine was more of Nancy’s _he’s-so-into-you_ nonsense with-

 

“Yes _way_ ,” Nancy teased. “You know he’s come for his Christmas flirt-”

 

“We do not flirt. Rick Ford does not flirt with me. He’s… polite.”

 

_Yes, that was it. Polite._

 

“Oh?” Nancy crossed her arms, _We shall see._

 

Susan tried to pick him out of the shadows again, scanning the cocktail tables and twinkling Christmas trees on the periphery of the dance floor.

 

The nervous tickling her in belly turned into a full-fledge flutter when she spotted him less than fifteen feet away, eyes locked on her as he weaved his way smoothly between their colleagues.

 

“He’s- he’s probably getting a shrimp cocktail or something,” she tried in a last-ditch attempt to convince Nancy - and herself - chewing her lip and glancing at the refreshments table over her shoulder.

 

“He wants tail, alright,” Nancy snorted loudly at her own joke, earning a quirked eyebrow from Ford as he sidled up to a scant foot away from Susan and stopped.

 

Like a proud bloodhound at the end of a scent trail, he smirked.

 

Susan felt every bit the treed cat as she greeted him with what she hoped was a normal-pitched, “Merry Christmas, Agent Ford.”

 

“Coopah, s’quite a sweater you got.” His eyes dropped pointedly to her… snowmen.

 

She smoothed a hand over her pompoms. “Th-thank you. You look-”

 

Clean shaven, the low house lights gleaming off his smooth, bald dome. Wearing a crisp black suit fitted over a charcoal turtleneck. His Omega watch winking at her as he tugged his lapels straight.

 

“-festive,” she finished, trying not to notice his broad shoulders, or how large his hands were gripping the dark fabric of his suit.

 

He reached up and adjusted her antlers, tucking them gently back into her hair as she mentally scolded herself for flinching.

 

“So do you,” he rumbled, eyes sweeping over her again. “Been well, Miss Coopah? S’been a while, ‘asn’t it?”

 

“It-it has, Agent Ford. It really has been a...” she trailed off, swallowing as the scent of his cologne drifted over her. “H-how have you been?”

 

“I asked you first, darlin’,” he murmured, stepping closer.

 

“I’ve been-” _Wait, what was the question?_ “Good. Great. Grreat!”

 

She winced. _God, Susan you are such an idiot._

 

He chuckled. “Glad to ‘ear it.”

 

She gulped again as he took her wrist in his hand. “Nice watch. Is it new? I don’t remember it from - when was the last time I saw you? Was it August?”

 

She nodded. “Yep! Yeppers!” _Yeppers? Get it together, Susan._ “It was a birthday present. To myself. Happy birthday to me!” she sang.

 

“S’right.” He tilted his head, like he was thinking. “It’s in October, innit? Your birthday?”

 

“Wha- I- yes.” She blushed. “I’m a Scorpio.”

 

He gave her another up-and-down look. “Aren’t you just.”

 

Susan jumped a little as Nancy piped up, “My birthday’s in May, if anyone was wondering.”

 

“Oh, good gravy, Nancy! You scared the bejesus out of me. When did you get back?”

 

Ford twitched his lips to hide a smirk, glancing down at his Ferragamos.

 

“I never left, Susan,” Nancy drawled.

 

“What? That’s- that’s crazy.” She laughed, a breathless sound, feeling a bit punch-drunk. They always cranked the heat at these dang things. It was so hot.

 

She went to fan herself with her hand, then realized it was still in Ford’s.

 

It was really, really hot.

 

She worked her wrist out of his grip as Nancy chirped, “Well, I really must go… mingle!”

 

Susan pleaded, “No!” at the same time Ford nodded, “Night.”

 

Avoiding his eyes, Susan cleared her throat.

 

“No, psh. Come on, Nancy. Don’t,” she floundered for a moment, looking for a reason to cling onto. Finding one, she brightened. “Don’t you want to hear about all of Ford’s _exciting amazing_ missions?” She gestured at Ford, who puffed up under her praise. “I mean, he has the _best_ missions. Obviously. You- you don’t want to miss that.”

 

 _Nancy, don’t you dare,_ she glared.

 

 _Sorry I’m not sorry,_ Nancy grinned back. “Much as I hate to miss it, I’m afraid I must mingle. I promised my therapist I’d branch out,” she explained to Ford, imitating tree branches with her arms.

 

He jerked back a little.

 

“But you stay, Susan.” Nancy patted her arm, then told Ford in a campy whisper, “She absolutely _loves_ your stories. It’s simply the highlight of her year, she says so all the time.”

 

“S’that right?” Ford, whose chest was practically swollen to bursting, looped his arm around Susan’s waist and dragged her to his side.

 

 _I am going to kill you_ , Susan mouthed at Nancy over her shoulder as Ford steered her towards an empty cocktail table.

 

 _Do him!_ Nancy mouthed back, making an _O_ with one hand and pumping her finger through it, then giving Susan a double thumbs-up.

 

Susan faced forward with groan as Nancy started pantomiming a blowjob.

 

_Son of a bee sting._

 

“-black-market organ harvesting,” Ford was saying. “Closest I’ve ever come to lookin’ death in the face.”

 

Susan tried not to cringe. “Oh, wow. That- that sounds fascinating.”

 

“Course, s’all top secret. Highly classified,” he told her with a dangerous glint that came off as surprisingly practiced.

 

She looked around, confused. “You... do realize we have the same security clearance, right Agent Ford? I can pull up your file on my-”

 

“Need a refill?” he nodded to her punch glass, held with one finger looped through the plastic handle.

 

“No, th-thank you. I’m all set!” she assured him as she set her plate and cup on the cocktail table.

 

“Where was I? Right! Bangalore - the jungle.” His voice dropped to an ominous rumble. She would have rolled her eyes at the melodrama, if it wasn’t right in her ear, tickling the wisps of hair that had come untucked from her antlers, tingling all the way down her spine and pooling between her-

 

She hardly noticed his arm was still around her waist, hand on her hip.

 

____________________________________________________________________________

“Get outta here!” she cried, smacking him lightly on the arm.

 

“‘and to God, Miss Coopah-” Ford raised his right hand. “Open-heart surgery right there on the floor of girls' primary school, with nothin’ but a mechanical pencil and a machete-”

 

“You are so full of bologna!” Her second smack to his bicep was more of a stroke, really.

 

She blamed the punch.

 

“With these two hands.” He held out his hands.

 

“What-ever!” God, was she petting him? She snatched her hand back. The motion caused her to tip sideways with a soft, “Whoops!”

 

“Steady on, sweet’eart,” he purred, catching her around the waist.

 

A two-armed catch. Her breath caught.

 

“You have- good reflexes, Agent Ford.”

 

“You ‘ave to, Miss Coopah, with a job like mine. You never know what’s round the corner.” His eyes dropped to her mouth.

 

She raised her hand to blot around her lips, checking for crumbs.

 

He dipped his head.

 

“Excuse me, sir? Madam? The ballroom is closing.”

 

Susan blinked, looking around. Closing was an understatement - the house lights were up, the bar and dancefloor had been dismantled and were packed onto handtrucks and trolleys, someone was vacuuming. Even their cocktail table had been rolled away.

 

The eyes of the hotel staff were studiously avoiding them.

 

“Your coats,” the manager offered them with an impassive expression.

 

She started to ask, “How do you know they’re ours?” and then realized it was because they were the only guests left.

 

Ford accepted both with a shameless grin, holding hers open for her with a quiet, “Miss Coopah.”

 

She slipped into it silently, eyelashes fluttering involuntarily when his hands smoothed down her arms. “Thank you, Agent Ford.”

 

He offered her his arm as she turned.

 

She took it was one last apologetic glance back at the hotel staff. “So sorry! Merry Christmas!”

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

 

On the large marble steps outside the hotel, Susan took a deep drink of the crisp night air, feeling the refreshing tingle on her flushed cheeks.

 

_Man, it was hot back there._

 

“Plans for the ‘oliday?”

 

“What? Oh, hm. I- I think it’ll be a quiet one, this year.” She tried not to flinch remembering last year, her first Christmas alone after Jerry. Waking up on Christmas morning to an empty house-

 

_No one likes a Pity-me Polly, Susan._

 

“You?”

 

Ford looked up at the night sky. “S’a girl I’d like to spend it with-”

 

Her smile faltered, blush returning and bringing along with it a deep ache in her breast.

 

She closed her eyes, _Stupid stupid stupid._

 

“Thing of it is, every year I see ‘er, talk to ‘er. There’s this moment-” he raised his hand, squinting as he envisioned it. “There’s this exact moment, every fuckin’ year, where she’s standin’ right ‘ere, and I just ‘ave to tell ‘er, _I’m in love with you_. And every fuckin’ year, I can’t get up the bottle. Figure that.” He scoffed at himself.

 

 _He’s in love with her._ She felt like she was going to be sick.

 

“Well!” she sang brightly, determined not to make a complete fool of herself twice in one holiday. With a self-deprecating little smile, she confided, “I had the same problem you did.”

 

There was something so desperately hopeful in his deep voice as he asked, “You did?”

 

“Yep!” She nodded. “There’s a guy I’ve been in love with - for _years_ \- and I decided, this was the year. Just, get up the nerve and say it, sister! Haha hm…”

 

She turned to look up at him, unable to keep the wobble out of her mouth despite her sunny smile. “So I did!”

 

Ford’s expression was unreadable as he repeated, “You did?”

 

“Uh-huh. And you know what he did? Bolted. Like a bat outta heck.” She scoffed at herself.

 

“You told him.”

 

“Yeah.” She sniffed, feeling like her heart would burn a hole through her chest if the ache didn’t stop. _Shame on you if they fool you twice, Susan_ , she heard her mother say.

 

 _This is not about you._ She took a calming breath, gathering herself before she turned back to Ford.

 

His expression was closed, the arm her hand was tucked in stiff between them.

 

“Hey.” She patted his chest gently. “Listen, don’t listen - I mean - _look_ , don’t listen to me. You’re Rick Ford, superspy,” she smiled, nudging him. “A guy like you? I bet you have women lined up down the block. You just tell this girl how you feel, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

 

Oh God, she sounded like his mother.

 

“Dunno,” he said distantly, shrugging. He raised his hand to hail a cab.

 

She’d overstepped. She tried to backpedal.

 

“It was really nice of you to hail a cab. You didn’t have to go through the trouble-”

 

He snorted. “It’s a hand motion, Coopah. Takes less effort than you make it sound-”

 

“Come on, that’s not what I meant. I- I’m sorry for taking up all your time, tonight.” She glanced down at her hands and back at him.

 

“You?” He seemed genuinely surprised at that. The lines around his eyes softened as he stepped closer. “Susan, I want you to take-”

 

“Where you two headed?” the cab driver called to them through the passenger window.

 

“Oh gosh, nope, it’s- it’s just me!” Susan waved at him, then before she could lose her nerve - or any more of her buzz from her vodka cranberries - she turned and pushed up onto her tip toes to kiss Ford’s cheek.

 

“Thank you again, Ford. For everything,” she told him softly. “You made my night so much better. You have no idea.”

 

His throat worked, and when he said, “Lemme get your door,” it sounded thick. Gruff.

 

He offered her his hand as she stepped up to the curb.

 

She took it, letting him help her into the cab, her hand feeling small and delicate in his.

 

He was a sweet man, really. Ridiculous. But sweet.

 

“Good night, Agent Ford.”

 

“Good night, Miss Coopah.” He still sounded sad, but he managed a roguish grin as he said, “Same time next year?”

 

She nodded as he closed the cab door, whispering to herself, “It’s a date.”

 

“Twenty-fifth and Le Grange,” she told the cab driver, twisting a little in her seat to look out the back windshield.

 

Ford was standing in the street where her cab had been, watching them drive off into the night.

 

Aw, seeing her off safely. What a gentleman.

 

She grinned to herself, trying to squash the lingering flutter in her belly, and the memory of her lips against his cheek.

 

He was so polite.

**Author's Note:**

> On my honeymoon in Paris, and all the Christmas decorations and people-watching outings were so inspiring I had to write a Susan/Rick piece. Loosely tied to the Wait A Minute Mister Postman! and Somewhere Only We Know verses (the scene is mentioned in Somewhere Only We Know). 
> 
> For Meggybakes, via her request.


End file.
